


Remember Me

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Drama, Fluff, Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-12
Updated: 2007-05-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: After Craig's death, Justin returns to Pittsburgh for the first time since moving to New York.





	Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

\--- 

It is five-oh-two in the morning when Justin gets the call. 

"Your dad died." 

Later, he won't remember who it was who called. Molly or Mom or Debbie or Daphne. He won't care. He'll remember rolling over in bed, ignoring his blatant hangover, and making coffee. 

He tells himself it's what anyone would do. 

But for Justin, "Dad" didn't mean what it does to everyone else. 

So when he finishes his coffee, decidedly un-awake, and goes back to sleep, he thinks nothing of it.

\---

It's not like Craig meant anything to him. Justin's not a kid anymore, not a little boy who hangs onto his mommy and daddy's every word.

But he's a man. And that means that it's his duty, his responsibility as a person, to pay his respects to the man who raised him, even if he was a homophobic asshole until the end. Besides, loathe as he is to admit it, Craig is half the reason Justin is even alive. 

He hates the idea of going back to Pittsburgh every second up until he steps onto the plane, and every second before they take off, and every second before the plane lands in Pittsburgh International Airport. And he hates the idea even while he's in the cab on his way to his mother's house. 

But when he pulls up in the driveway and shoves a few crumpled bills at the cab driver, Justin starts to hate the idea less and less. 

Because he knows who's going to be here. He can pretend all he wants that he doesn't give a damn about seeing all the people he left behind when he went off to New York, but there's no denying that he can't wait to see his family. And, of course, Brian.

\--- 

Justin doesn't know why this is being held at his mother's, but Craig didn't really have anyone else. There was a girlfriend, Justin knows, right when the divorce was in its prime, but she couldn't have lasted. Hell, she was probably married. 

Craig's parents and siblings were estranged from him because of some financial argument that had taken place long before Justin was even born. And though some uncle or cousin or something had kept in touch with Craig, Justin can't delude himself into thinking that the uncle/cousin was close enough to Craig to be informed when he died.

So Jennifer's house is the venue of choice. 

The first person Justin sees is Emmett, bustling around and talking to people as though this were some kind of party. _Well_ , Justin thinks cynically, _who really liked Craig, anyway?_

The moment Emmett and Justin meet eyes, Emmett lays a tray gently on a table and rushes over to his favorite budding artist, wrapping him in a warm hug. Justin reciprocates, pressing Emmett close against his chest. 

"Emmett, is that -- ?" 

A voice startles the two friends out of their hug. Justin shuffles away from Emmett, giving him an apologetic look, and lets his arms drop to his sides. "Mom," he says quietly. "Are you okay?" 

"Oh, I'm fine," Jennifer replies, and she is. She is. There are no dark circles under her eyes, no lines of worry in her cheeks, no twiddle of her fingers to draw attention to her nerves. She's smiling, happy to see her son and pretty much indifferent to the death of the ex-husband with whom she hasn't communicated in years. 

Justin hugs her, and she's one of the only women he's ever hugged. Then he really thinks about it, and realizes that, no, she is one of six women he has hugged, and one is… 

"Justin!" 

Molly, seventeen and still unremorsefully devoted to her gay older brother, steps forward in high heels that look impossible to walk in. Justin spares her the trouble and takes a few quick steps forward, then wraps her in his arms. "Are you holding up all right?" he murmurs in her ear. 

"He was an asshole," she hisses back. 

Justin laughs hoarsely. "Welcome to the world of adulthood, Mol." He lets his hands flop loosely to his sides, and he looks around. "Anyone else here for me to be reunited with? Where's Debbie? Ted, Michael, Ben?" His voice cracks just enough for Emmett and Jennifer to notice when he asks quietly, "Brian?" 

"Debbie ran out to get a few things," Jennifer promises quickly. "More paper plates and napkins and things, mostly. And Michael and Ben are with her." 

Trying not to get stuck with the least desirable explanation, Molly jumps in, "Ted and Hunter – they're driving together because they both woke up late – kind of got stuck in traffic, but they'll be here soon." 

Emmett glares at the two unhelpful women. "And sweetie, Brian's not here. You know the excuse." 

Justin does. Something came up. There's a shocker. He looks from Emmett to his mother to his sister, then at his fingernails. "Oh," he says quietly. "Okay. That's fine. It's not like he and Craig got along very well anyway." 

His hand strays unwillingly to his pocket, his fingertips trailing over the outline of the drawing he brought for Brian. 

\--- 

After the light brunch, more of a celebration of Craig's death than any sort of sad marking of the end of his life, Justin excuses himself to call a hotel and make a reservation. True, he had planned to stay with Brian, but given the circumstances… 

"Hi, I'd like to book a room for tonight." 

A hand is on his phone, taking it away and clapping it shut. "Absolutely not," Jennifer says sternly. "You're staying here." Then she sees the disappointment on her son's face. Like he hasn't spent a night in that house since Brian "saved" him, and he isn't about to start now, even if he won't say so to her. No way is he going to hurt her feelings the night of her ex-husband's funeral. 

"Should I… drive you to Brian's?" she asks wearily. 

Justin sighs. "I don't think he'd appreciate an old twink showing up on his doorstep, Mother," he says, trying to convince himself of that. 

Jennifer fixes him with a cold stare. "Don't you dare try that self-pity on _me_ , Justin Taylor," she retorts. "You just don't want to be upset if you find him with a trick." 

Her son is taken aback, but lets out a sigh that may as well be an admittance of everything his mother just said. "Also," he says, "if he is with a trick, the thing is, I'm not going to be able to yell at him or pull a guilt trip. I don't have a claim to him anymore. I'm a kid he used to see." 

"You know that isn't true," Jennifer cuts in. 

"That doesn't matter." Justin's tone is firm. "That's all I can expect from him. That's all I'm _entitled_ to from him." 

She takes her car keys out of her pocket, slowly, as though deliberating over every single movement it takes. "Time was," she says, "I'd drive you anywhere else. To a stranger's, even. But now, taking you to Brian's… it seems like it would be a crime not to. Denying you love. Because I know you love him." 

Justin eyes her uncertainly. He knows he has Debbie to thank for this new mother, the one who talks with her son honestly and actually _communicates_. 

"And I know he loves you," Jennifer adds, not because of the expectant look on Justin's face – no, of course not. 

Justin opens the car door and gets inside. 

\--- 

Brian can't say he wasn't expecting the knock on the loft door at some point during the weekend. He isn't stupid. He knows all about the funeral for Justin's bastard father, and he knows that Justin came back to Pittsburgh to "celebrate." So when he hauls himself out of bed to answer the door, he runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it, and unbuttons the top two buttons on his shirt. 

Then he answers. 

"Justin," he drawls, spotting the young blonde on the other side. "What a surprise." 

Twenty-five and undaunted, Justin easily ignores Brian's pretense at a casual greeting and sweeps him into his arms. He holds Brian tightly for a few minutes, savoring the other man's warmth – warmth he never had in New York. 

"I missed you," Justin whispers into Brian's ear, though it's hardly a secret. 

In that moment, Brian recalls what it was about this boy who made him let down all the walls he spent so much time building up. "I missed you too," he murmurs back, and kisses Justin. 

It isn't a sex kiss, with tongues intertwining and panting into each other's mouths. It isn't a passion kiss, with pressure enough to bruise their lips. 

It's a love kiss. It's long and slow and not the least bit sexy. It's all romance. 

Brian remembers when the very thought of such a kiss would have driven him to the bathroom, on his knees, forehead pressed against the toilet while vomiting endlessly. 

Now it has him getting on his knees for a very different reason. 

\--- 

In the morning, Justin almost regrets the sex. 

Not that it wasn't great. Justin Taylor and Brian Kinney are physically incapable of having imperfect sex. But it had been Justin's intention to talk with Brian, and, well, talking isn't really possible with someone's tongue in your mouth, on your dick, or in your ass. 

At least, not about anything other than the sex itself. 

It's ten in the morning, and Justin is torn between making coffee and staying huddled in bed, warm and comfortable. It's been so long since he's had that comfort that he wants to stay with Brian in his bed for the rest of his life. 

Not that he ever _didn't_ want that, of course. Not since meeting him. 

"Justin?" Brian mumbles, rolling over to face his… what is Justin to him now? Lover? They haven't seen each other in nearly a year – does Justin still have the right to call himself Brian's "lover"? 

"Yeah," Justin whispers, and leans over to peck Brian on the lips. "Morning." 

Awkward. 

So Justin cracks a smile. "I've wanted to wake up next to you for so long," he says, but regrets it immediately after saying so. What if Brian thinks he's lying – or worse, what if Brian laughs it off and accuses him of being silly and juvenile? 

But Brian smiles. "I think I have too," he says. 

"I have something to tell you," Justin says firmly. "I've been thinking." 

It's a lie. He hasn't really been thinking about it at all. 

"Me living so far away from you… it sucks. My success in the art world has been virtually nonexistant, though I'll confess I did sell a grand total of nine paintings in the year I've been there." 

Brian nods. He is clearly bored. 

"But in Pittsburgh, you know how much I sold?" 

"Enlighten me," Brian drawls. 

"In one year," says Justin, "I managed to sell thirty-six. And you know what else? I can't sleep in New York. There are cars honking nonstop. They say you adjust to it, but I haven't. My apartment is awful and costs me more than this loft would cost you if you rented it, and – this is the big one – I'm too far away from the man I love." 

Brian cracks a smile. "And who might that be?" he jokes. 

"Shut up," Justin tells him. "There's no Babylon in New York." 

"There isn't a Babylon _here_ ," Brian points out. 

Justin sighs. "Christopher Street is no Liberty Avenue." 

"Been there, done that." 

"The entire Christopher Street?" Justin asks in mock horror. "I'm shocked, Brian, really, I am. Listen. I don't like New York. And it's not that I love Pittsburgh, all that much, really. But I love you. And even if I didn't have any other reasons to come back, that would be enough." 

Brian closes his eyes for a long moment, shutting out Justin's view of his lover's soul. "You want to come back and live with me," he says. 

"And get married," Justin suggests hopefully. "I'm sorry I ever left. Not sorry to you – sorry to myself." 

Brian opens his eyes. "You can come back," he says at last. 

It isn't enough. 

"I would love for you to come back," he says. 

And that, for Justin, is beyond enough. 

But Brian says one more thing. 

"Because I love you."

Two weeks later, Justin has all his stuff in the drawers. He will not empty them again.


End file.
